


Built For It

by okbutjusthisonce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Sherlock, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Birth, Boarding School, Breeding, Dubious Consent, M/M, Omega John Watson, Omega Verse, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Abuse, Slavery, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Sex, birth scene, erotic birth, multiple pregnancy, procreant alpha, procreant alpha sherlock, procreant omega, procreant omega john, scary totalitarian state, shitty boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okbutjusthisonce/pseuds/okbutjusthisonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson discovers at age 15 that he's a procreant omega; a "breeder".<br/>Shortly after, men from the government show up to bring him to a new "boarding school" designed just for his kind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, this is some dark shit. I think, anyway.  
> Just warning you.  
> Anyway this story's been kicking around in my head so here it is...
> 
> Thoughts are appreciated...

The first time John gave birth was in his bedroom, alone. It was two days after his fourteenth birthday. He'd hidden it well enough, under shapeless jumpers and his winter coat. Harry had left home by then, was living with Veronica and some older boys somewhere. Mum had checked out, her daily regimen of pills and Chardonnay keeping her safe and far away from her family.

Which left Mick, who knew full well what was going on.

John gave birth on a Saturday. His body had been uncomfortable for days; looking back as an adult he knew he’d been labouring, but as a scared and an inexperienced teenager he’d simply ignored the sensations as only a fourteen year old boy could.

That morning he’d woken to a wet burst between his legs and the contractions he’d been feeling intensified. John gripped the sheets and moaned, spread his legs as wide as he could manage.

He bucked his hips as he felt his body contracting and pushing, working to expel the life inside him. Only twenty minutes later John found himself shuddering uncontrollably as a large head crowned between his legs, spreading him wide open, lighting his body up with pleasure and pain. Gasping he dug his heels into the mattress and bore down, the urge to bear consuming him.

With a sudden burst of fluid, the baby’s head popped out of him, hung heavy between his splayed thighs. Almost immediately the shoulders followed along with the rest of the baby and another small flood of liquid. His back arched as a wave of pleasure and relief consumed him. John dropped his head back with an orgasmic groan. His perineum was already bulging with a second child.

The second baby seemed to be larger than the first one, and took longer. Caught on his pelvis, John lay there grunting and straining for some time. He writhed in pleasure as the weight of it pushed against his prostate. The pressure inside him was building again, the need to feel the baby come out becoming unbearable. At last he shifted positions, bringing himself to his knees. Gravity took hold then. As soon as the second baby’s head had crowned it dropped from him onto the mattress next to its sibling. John reached down towards them, but was stopped by the sensation of a third birth unfolding. He fell onto his back again, shaking and wailing quite loudly this time.

It emerged from him quickly; his flesh was stretched from the first two, was slick and wet. This one was a little faster and a little easier, and John’s pleasure had intensified. The door opened and Mick stood there in time to see John’s flesh smoothly yawning around the top of a head which quickly became a face, twisting out of the boy’s shuddering body.

“Christ.” he said as the third baby popped out. John whimpered, lay back on the pillow trembling as the afterbirth slid from him. His thighs were washed in red and semen covered his stomach. Mick began attending to the infants. They started to wail in succession.

“Three...on your first time,” he muttered. “I always pegged you for a little slut,” he told John as he handed the boy a towel to clean himself with, “but you’re more than that, you’re gonna be a hell of a breeder.”

John didn’t know what Mick did with them, and neither of them said anything to Mum.

Mick moved out not long after that. Mum was upset, looked at John suspiciously for months.

****

****

+++

 

 

Only six months later he was swollen again; this time obviously so. There was no hiding his belly, it was absurdly huge. Besides, his babies had been fathered by letting most of the rugby team shag him. Everyone knew this time; even Mum who went mad. She screamed at John, and hit him, and said she’d kick him out. So John left, and moved in with Harry and Veronica for a while. Only there were too many things that scared him there; drugs and angry young men who looked at him with savage intent. He left after a couple of weeks and moved back home.

Mick had also returned.

“What did I tell you?” He said as he ploughed his thick cock into John one evening, “You’re built for it, a little omega slut made to be bred. Look at how fucking big you are already.” John only whimpered as he felt Mick’s knot forced into him, filling, swelling, stretching, plugging.

He gave birth in the hospital only seven months after having the triplets. Five this time, each coming faster than the last. Every baby was quite large, John had made a gang of rugby players to-be. This time his swollen body was consumed by pleasure for more of it; John groaned and writhed through the pain, orgasming from being stretched open and pushing out babies. After a short four hours it was all over and he was feeling oddly empty. They gave him one of his children to hold for a little while, even though they’d all already been adopted out. It helped John with the emptiness, somewhat. 

 

 

+++ 

 

The next day a social worker came.

John wasn’t a troublemaker; he didn’t get into fights. He had excellent grades and even an aptitude for the sciences. But he was clearly at-risk.

“Boarding school.” grunted Mick with amusement. He held John’s head back to get a better angle. “A fertile little cocksucker like you… I give it two weeks before you’re knocked up again.”

It only took five days, actually, and a senior student, who was on his way out of school and up in the world. They were both expelled when John began showing too much to hide it - only three months after the hospital delivery, he looked ready to give birth again. His social worker was upset.

“What happened to the contraception I gave you?” she asked.

“...Forgot it.” he said after a long pause. He stared out the window at nothing.

She peered at him sceptically, looked at his growing belly which seemed to be on its own accelerated timetable.

“Have you scheduled an ultrasound?” she asked him.

“After this.” John was never very comfortable talking to adults.

“I want you to take a DNA test, just to make sure you’re not a procreant. I’ll schedule it for after your ultrasound.”

“Okay.” John shrugged.

His social worker looked at him solemnly.

“If you test positive, it will open up more options for what the state will do for you, John. Okay?”

John nodded, his gaze focused somewhere outside. His hands roamed the surface of his distended middle. It felt good.

 

 

+++

 

 

The test came back a roaring, unambiguous positive, but seemed hardly necessary after the ultrasound. John was carrying eight this time, in three separate amniotic sacs, with three slightly different due dates. John had gotten pregnant three times in the space of a month or so, his body housing one brood on top of the other. He would bear one lot, then with some weeks in between birth the next, and then the next. Only procreant omegas could do that. The social worker apologised to him; she told him she felt she should have spotted it sooner. She also gave him new contraceptives.

“I’d give you suppressants, but at this point I’ve been told I’m not allowed.” she said. John couldn’t quite understand why she seemed so angry.

“Don’t make any more babies until you have to, John.” she told him as they parted ways.

He nodded at his feet, hands still wrapped around his belly.

 

 

+++

 

  

Mick was pleased to be right of course. He gloated while he fingered John, wanked and spilled onto John’s huge swollen belly. Mum was cold to John but preoccupied; she was having a baby of her own with Mick soon.

 

 

 

+++

 

 

The men from the state showed up two days after John’s test results. An old one and a younger one. The brochures they had were printed on expensive, heavy paper with bright colours. They promised things John knew his own school would never get. That he’d never have in his life any other way.

“It’s rather like military school, crossed with a high end prepatory one, if one thinks about it.” Said the older man to Mum.

“Seems a bit posh for our family.”

“It _will_ give John a better future, if that’s what you mean. More options, an... environment conducive to success.” The man said looking at Mum’s glass concernedly.

“May I trouble you for a drink of …water? ”

“John, get this man some water.” Mum watched John do as he was told.

“Stop touching yourself.” She snapped. John dropped his hand from the surface of his enourmous stomach. Mum turned to the man again.

“He’s got a problem with keeping his legs closed, as you can see. If there are other boys there...”

“Our entire programme is geared towards keeping young procreants safe and in control of their own bodies. I assure you, we are well prepared to help your son.”

“I suppose it’s why you’re here to begin with. Because he’s a breeder.”

“Well, we do prefer to the term ‘procreant’, but yes.”

“How many does he have to have to pay for this?”

The older man cleared his throat.

“If you refer to page four of the legal documents we sent over, section A1 clearly states that the schooling is one hundred per cent funded, if John is accepted. The production of new citizens for the state is an optional programme to offset certain tax penalties…”

As they talked, John caught the younger man looking at him. He reminded John of his science teacher, Mr. Benedict. He had pale eyes that were kind and John thought, a little sad. He smiled at John. John looked away.

“...and a minimum of four years service, which will put him age 19, which I’d reckon is just about perfect. He’d have all the necessary training to go into military service, else he’ll be of legal age then and can do whatever he chooses with his life…”

John knew what his mother was thinking before she picked up the pen. The younger man cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a word the whole time.

“Before you sign, Mrs Watson, I’d like to interject and have a word or two with John himself.”

“Oh. Alright.” she said. “why?” She looked between the two men, puzzled at the new, conflicting information.

“It’s imperative for us that the student be willing and dedicated to the programme, You’ll see that on page 246, section G6.” The younger man seemed to be addressing his counterpart, but Mum didn’t notice. She shuffled the enormous pile of papers helplessly. The two men stared at each other.

“Quite right.” the older one said after a moment. “Mr Holmes here is amazing, has a photographic memory, he does. Knows these documents inside and out.”

“Oh, that must be nice for shopping.” said Mum.

 

+++

 

 

John packed his things for a second time, though there wasn’t very much he wanted to take with him. He thought he’d never come back if he didn’t have to. The interview with Mr. Holmes had been brief but interesting. It was made of questions no one had asked him before.

“So long mate, try not to pop too many out in the first year.” said Mick. He gave a wink and a quick pinch to John’s bum when no one else was looking.

“Behave, and don’t forget where you came from.” Mum told him from the divan. She was feeling ill again that morning from the baby.

John waited outside, rubbing his belly nervously in the early morning air.

When the shiny black car pulled up, he was surprised; he’d been expecting a minicab to take him to the train station.

A driver got out of the front and opened the back door for him. John piled his pregnant body into the sunken posh vehicle with some difficulty.

“Hello, John.” said Mr. Holmes.


	2. Welcome to Barrington Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you enjoy it? Being bred... Most of your kind do, you know." Said Matron.
> 
> "Well in any case believe me, you will learn to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so. This story was actually too depressing for me to write the way I originally envisioned it.  
> So I reworked it a little. In the process I came up with two different ideas I wanted to pursue.  
> So now there is an AU for this AU. Because it's turtles all the way down.
> 
> Storyline one will continue here.
> 
> Read the second one (Lolita Mix) here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/990866

Procreants were valuable. That was really the bottom line and the problem. Mycroft Holmes looked at the child who stood rubbing his enormous belly compulsively and tried to keep his heart from breaking. The boy was nearly the same age as his brother...

John had been silent the entire interview while Mathers did his usual song and dance to the mother. It was impressive just how good he was at making people feel as though there were a choice in the matter, rather than a small set of sub options.

The boy had tested exceptionally well, for both of their purposes, unfortunately. Mycroft had therefore insisted on questioning John. He needed some ammunition.

It was towards the tail end of the interview he got what he was looking for.

"Anything?" John had asked perplexed. Mycroft had nodded, not expecting to get very far. It was difficult to get boys like John to dream, let alone share what might come to mind.

“A doctor.” the boy had said, and Mycroft saw, if not the road to victory, then at least a road sign pointing in the right direction, despite Mathers’ and the mother’s discouraging reactions.

****

+++

****

In the car it began immediately.

“You really went out of your way to bullock that up, didn’t you?” Scowled Mathers. “That’s coming out of your cut, I’ll claim the full commission, thank you very much.”

Mycroft promised himself he’d someday show the disgusting man next to him what really going out of his way actually looked like. He said,

"The boy has potential..."

"As a moneymaker. That little box is gonna yield, mark my words. Don’t even bother trying to get him into your silly program. Once they see the numbers on him..." Mathers hawked and spit into his handkerchief.

"Christ, the scent on that kid. The boys are gonna go crazy.”

Mycroft looked out the window.

“I’ll be sure to mention it in the report.”

“If you think I’m letting you get even close to the report this time Holmes, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Think.”

“What?”

“Do you ever consider, Mathers, what the power of choice is to any given individual?”

"Do you ever consider what it's like to be stuck with a swotty little git like yourself for a partner?"

"Touché."

+++

****

The journey to get there had been strange one, starting with the ride he'd gotten from Mr. Holmes.

John looked out the window at the scrappy lawn and the group of boys playing on it. He wondered if they were like him. The school grounds didn't look as nice as they did in the brochures but he didn't care. He made a soft line in the dust on the window pane.

A large figure appeared on the field. It was another boy, easily twice the size of the others. John watched as several boys fled, while some seem to gravitate towards the new person. He plowed through the crowd, obviously focused on a specific, skinny kid with a mud-stained top. The boy didn't run as he was tackled by his large classmate, had his clothes torn away. He only wriggled like an eel on the ground as he was taken.

The game of football slowly resumed, not everyone joining again in favor of watching.

"You must be John." a voice behind him said.

It belonged to an authoritative looking woman with red lips and dark eyes.

"Welcome to Barrington Vale. I'm Miss Adler, you will address me as 'Matron'," she said.

"Yes, Matron."

"Good boy. My, but you're heavy. How many are you carrying, John?"

"Eight, Matron."

Miss Adler's eyes gleamed.

"Well! That is very impressive! And so young! You have quite a career ahead of you." She stepped closer to the window, her kohl-lined gaze drifting downward momentarily before landing back on John.

"I see you've been watching the other students. You'll be allowed to join them soon enough, as soon as we've determined what to proscribe you."

As if on cue, the door opened and two men in white appeared.

"This will be the first in a series of tests; I know you'll do your best to be cooperative, John." Said Matron.

The men stripped John's clothes away in a brisk, businesslike manner, and handed them to Miss Adler. A hospital robe was wrapped around him loosely.

"While you're here you'll be on a strict regimen. We like our students to perform on a schedule." Matron said.

"On the bed please." Droned one of the men in a thick northern accent. John obeyed, and found himself being positioned onto his back.

"Do you enjoy it? Being bred... Most of your kind do, you know." Said Matron.

John gave his usual silent shrug, his eyes cast downwards.

The first orderly, a young south Asian man was peeling John's eyelids back, shining a bright light into them as he inspected each one dispassionately.

The second reminded John of Mick, or one of Mick's mates from the pub. He reached under the bed and slid out a set of metal bars. They turned out to be stirrups. John gasped as his legs were pulled up and apart and locked firmly into them.

"Well in any case believe me, you will learn to."

John felt like an animal; the first man held his head, moved with business like efficiency from his eyes to his ears and mouth. His large hands felt the glands in John's throat, along his jaw and shoulder lines. Simultaneously the second had spread John's legs wide and inserted a cold tool John didn't get to see.

As the tool began to warm inside his body, John began to wriggle and undulate involuntarily. His pregnancy had made him hypersensitive and constantly wanting, deriving pleasure easily from even the harsh touch of a cold medical exam.

The nurses didn't seem to notice, only continued poking and prodding him top to bottom. Miss Adler noticed, however.

"We'll get you something to help you with your sex drive, John. I believe you'll be quite happy here, once you settle in."

John moaned, hips bucking helplessly under the weight of his own swollen body, getting wetter and harder by the second. And suddenly it was over, the man had removed the tool; was stripping off his latex gloves and making notes.

“I must say your initial results were impressive,” Said Matron, her eyes still focused greedily on John's belly, "do you know you may have the purest procreant genome in the country just now? That's very exciting. You'll be bred just as soon as we finish our tests. I expect great things from you John." She ruffled John's hair with a guileless grin.

"Yes, Matron." John said, trembling.

"Good boy. Alright then I'll leave you lot to it."

"Do you want him induced?" Asked the Mick-like nurse. Matron put her hand on the rise of John's swollen stomach thoughtfully. Suddenly she was no longer looking at him. At least, not like he was a person, not as though he were there. John had been looked at that way before.

"If the tests support it, by all means, carpe diem." She said with a wink before turning on heel and leaving.

****

+++

****

Most of the clothing she’d bagged for testing. His scent was so strong, there was no doubt he’d produce a top quality extract should they decide to go that route. She'd kept the jumper however; it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

The chamber looked exactly as she’d left it. Undisturbed. Irene knew better.

She directed her gaze over to the sofa, where her favorite toy lounged, eyes closed, fingertips pressed together.

“Don’t bother trying to pretend.” She said flatly, “I know you’re awake. I know you can smell this too, suppressants or not.”

There was a momentary pause and then a low sigh.

“I’m busy at the moment.”

“Not too busy for this, I assure you. Up-up, my pet.” Irene dangled the jumper over Sherlock’s face, watched his nostrils twitch momentarily, even as he resisted opening his eyes. The rest of his face remained perfectly serene. Irene loved how much will power, how much resistance the boy still had in him. So much challenge for her to enjoy. She reached her index finger and traced the edge of his face, starting at the temple, moving down his cheekbone and over the scarred tissue until at last she found his lips. She was very careful with his mouth. She pressured the soft flesh of his lower lip just enough that it parted from the top one, almost imperceptibly. It was enough, she knew.

Sherlock tasted John's scent. His eyes snapped open. Irene saw the wildness she loved to raise in his expression. She marveled at his sharp, pretty eyes - how even the blind one seemed to pierce the world. Savage intelligence; there was little that turned her on more.

The boy suddenly sat up, his long, strong body uncoiling from around itself. Irene quickly grabbed a fistful of dark curls, pulled his head back and held him so. The jumper dangled in her other hand, out of reach.

"Give it to me." he demanded.

Irene smiled.

"See what a perfect training tool this is, my love?" She waved the garment closer and he tried to snap at it. Irene held Sherlock firmly in place.

"We might even start with a refresher course. Review the basics. Would you like that? Of course you would." She mused in his ear.

"Let's begin right away." Irene gave Sherlock a predatory smile, stared her exotic pet in the eyes until he dropped his own.

"Lesson one: " she said to the belligerent young alpha,

"You're mine."

 


	3. All The Better To Eat You With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look."Sherlock stepped forward, thrust his face into his brother's.
> 
> He was already taller than Mycroft, despite being nearly a decade younger. Sherlock pulled his lips back in an odd rictus grin. Mycroft looked up into his brother's mouth and paled.
> 
> "All the better to eat you with." Said Sherlock somberly.

"The first time is often hard on people, after that it should feel quite good."

John watched as the nurse checked the IV drip that she’d stuck into his arm. He was already feeling woozy. A strange feeling began to grip him, the flesh between his legs growing moist. His eyelids were sliding shut when the male assistant who’d examined him earlier returned. He pulled the stirrups back out from the bed, and slid John’s legs into them, more gently this time. John felt a deep nausea building along with the strange feeling between his legs. The room began spinning. He clenched his eyes shut.

“Try to relax.” John heard the man say. Once again before he understood what was happening, John felt something being pushed deep inside him. This time it was warm and a good deal softer than the tool used in the examination, but it was also far larger and very uncomfortable.

“We’re going to leave this in for about 30 minutes.”

The female nurse put a blanket over John, adjusted his pillow with a sugary smile.

“There, that’s better.” She said.

John blinked tried to focus on the man hitting buttons on a machine that seemed to be hooked to whatever was inside him through a series of tubing. He was temporarily jarred back into consciousness as the object began to both vibrate gently and swell. A new chemical sensation and steady pressure assaulted his flesh. He moaned and realized he was drooling. His eyelids were impossibly heavy.

“Poor little thing…” he heard someone say as he began sliding into a state of drug addled sleep.

 

+++

It triggered in him before he was officially a teenager. Sherlock had always seemed much older, like he was well on the way to adulthood. He was tall and articulate. He was lanky, granted, but so were skinny seventeen year olds. He wasn’t the type who would ever have much body or facial hair, making his lack of it inconsequential. He gained a jawline early.

One day during lessons, Sherlock dropped his instrument and pushed his violin teacher down, climbed on top of him. He was surprised at his own actions, for he hadn't planned them. More surprising was Julian's reaction; he made an odd chirping sound, pulled Sherlock close.

Julian was a conservatory student. An adult, even if a young one. So it didn't happen for some time. When he started showing, they didn't talk about it. Their physical relationship became much more intense though. Until Julian bonded with his alpha, an aspiring opera singer. After that the attraction between them dissipated, and they stopped. Mostly.

By then, Sherlock had researched and read everything he could on the subject. By then he'd taken several lovers, quite literally. By then he'd gained weight, added girth and experience. By then he knew what he was.

Despite being on the socially awkward side, he found his newly emerging self to be magnetic - and aggressive. This, at least, was true to form; his kind were rare and by all accounts it was just as well - they had a reputation for behavior the general population agreed it could do without.

What wasn’t typical was his deep disinterest in his physical self. His mind and body wanted completely different things from life, but more often than he wished(never), the latter won out. He knew what he was. He knew what usually happened to his kind.

He told his brother the next time he was home.

"You're joking." Mycroft has said, then "No, Sherlock, no. Not possible."

"Improbable." Corrected Sherlock unzipping his trousers.

"What are you doing- oh my word- put that away. When did that happen?"

"I want to show you -"

"Look, it just means you're growing up, not a child anymore, not quite anyway..."

"Mycroft, I'd almost use it on you, right now."

Mycroft blinked.

"You-"

"Look."Sherlock stepped forward, thrust his face into his brother's.

He was already taller than Mycroft, despite being nearly a decade younger. Sherlock pulled his lips back in an odd rictus grin. Mycroft looked up into his brother's mouth and paled.

"All the better to eat you with." Said Sherlock somberly. Mycroft stumbled back a little, alarmed.

Sherlock dropped his head, as if fighting off a sneeze.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Run. Tempt me to chase you...it's one of the hardest things for me to resist."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Sherlock told him about Julian and the others. Most of them anyway.

“Have you told Mummy? Father? Anyone?”

“Only you.”

“Sherlock, you need to tell the-”

“No.”

Mycroft blinked. his brother’s voice, deeper than when they’d last spoke was flat and adamant.

“But-”

“I don’t want to tell Mummy, or anyone else. I don't want them looking at me ” Sherlock said, “like you are right now.”

 

+++

"Where are you, my love?"

The sting of the cane against his thighs brought Sherlock away from his memories back to his hands and knees, back to being blindfolded, back to the present. Matron's hand was slick with lubricant as she rubbed him from above and behind, moving from perineum to cock. It didn't matter that he was completely uninterested in sex, that he wasn't attracted to her, that she was keeping him as a silly plaything. He was a procreant alpha; his body wanted to fuck: everyone and anything, all the time. Particularly on minimal medication, as he was now. His thick cock ached with pleasure as she stroked it.

"Pay attention... There's a good boy...." her voice said in his ear. A moment later the scent she'd been teasing him with was back; above him, around him, driving him mad. He groaned, bucked his hips instinctively.

She sent another white hot sting through him. Sherlock's limbs trembled with the effort of self control. He held still, dug his fingers into the soft carpeting. He heard himself growling as though his body was another's.

"Better." she said, pleased. "You're so very strong when you want to be, my love."

Sherlock inhaled the omega pheromones that made his eyes tear and his mouth water. He took on the impulse that rose in him with an iron determination. He held still, even as her right hand joined her left to stimulate him further. He heard her laugh with delight as her thumb ran delicately over the tip of his leaking cock and he didn’t move. He held still.

Very soon, he thought, he would find the source of that scent...


	4. Cubs Turn Into Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No mate, no. By your own story, he’s this close to being an animal. A big one, fangs and all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, readers. More updates on the way.  
> More porn too, but I though at the moment it could use some plot ;)  
> All feedback is welcome...

John woke with a start. He was exhausted and still heavy under the sway of sedatives. It was difficult to breathe. His legs were no longer in stirrups and he lay on his side slowly panting, hands unconsciously exploring the massive curve of his stomach.

There was someone in the doorway. John squinted in the dark, through his chemical haze at the silhouette. It stood large and still, filling the doorframe. John had the impression of a piercing set of eyes and a strange alpha-ish scent. He realized this was what had woken him, and he stared bleary eyed and confused at the apparition. He thought heard an animal growl and someone shouting. In spite of it all, his eyes began sliding closed again.

****

+++

****

“Oi! Get away from there!” Donovan dashed towards the room where the new boy was being kept.

Sherlock turned, growling, with a flash of teeth and a growing look of defiance as the burly man advanced on him.

He held his ground as Donovan stepped quite close to him. Sherlock was much younger, but already a good deal taller than the big attendant. He visibly bristled at Donovan, looking down at him, a low rumble in his throat. Each stared at the other, unwilling to budge.

“I mean it, Holmes. Think you own this place?”

“I’m just looking. I can look.”

“You’re not meant to be here.”

“I can be anywhere.”

“It’s past curfew, you little bastard. You’re meant to be in your bed. You’re lucky if I don’t have you sent upstairs for that, not to mention the lip you’re giving me.” Donovan stepped across Sherlock, folding his arms and blocking the doorway. His own scent was perfectly neutral.

“Leave him be.” He said calmly, “He just got here, you’ll have plenty of time for a proper sniff later.”

Sherlock flushed in embarrassment, snorted contemptuously and looked away.

“I am not a dog, Donovan.”

“Then stop acting like one.” Donovan replied softly. The aggression had abruptly dropped from both their voices. Sherlock was looking somewhere off into space.

“I - I actually came for isopropyl alcohol…”

“More? Already?”

“I need it.”

“Christ, you’re not drinking it are you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, suddenly an incredulous teenager.

“As if I would do something as dull and wasteful as that. It’s for an experiment, the likes of which I’m sure you would fail to comprehend…”

Donovan nodded, looking the boy up and down approvingly. He seemed a bit better now - calm, arrogant. Arrogant was good, ironically.

“Come on. But then I’m walking you back to your room.”

Sherlock nodded. As they moved away from the door, he turned his head quickly and stole a deep inhale from the darkened room. His eyes blazed.

“Sherlock? Are you coming, boy?” asked Donovan half turning. He held his arm out, as if he might touch Sherlock’s shoulder blade to herd him, but very deliberately refrained from actual contact.

Sherlock nodded again, this time clenching his eyes tight and swallowing hard. He began walking quickly ahead of Donovan towards the supply room.

“Existentially speaking, none of us are ‘meant’ to be anywhere.” he announced without turning round.

“There’s a good lad.” said Donovan as he locked the corridor doors behind them.

****

+++

****

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I have got some good news for you and bad news for you.”

Mycroft smiled at the woman on the screen in front of him, a woman whose own smile was just as cutthroat and artificial as his own.

“My, that does seem to be the usual situation.”

“Your procreant is as good as you said. And we’ve more or less secured him here at Barrington Vale. We see him as potentially being our most valuable asset.”

“I knew I could count on your avarice. What is your bad news then?”

“As part of the conditions of his being here, he will still have to fill a quota for the military. However, he can perform those services on our grounds…”

“No doubt there will be remunerations on your end.”

“There are always expenses.”

“How is my brother?”

There was a pause as the two looked at each other through their masks.

“I’m afraid he’s much the same. Unpredictable, irrational, aggressive. In a word, unstable.”

Mycroft raised a critical eyebrow.

“I could arrange an appointment for you to see him, if you wish.”

For a moment Mycroft felt in danger of his expression slipping. Irene smiled unwaveringly at him from across the country. There was the briefest of pauses as Mycroft wrangled his anger into place.

“That won’t be necessary just now.” He managed to say stoically.

“Well then, I’ll just send you the new schedule and projections on your procreant.”

****

+++

****

“I don’t know how you manage it, I really don’t. Glad it was you that was on call tonight.”

“It wasn’t bad. He’s basically a good kid.”

“No mate, no. By your own story, he’s this close to being an animal. A big one, fangs and all.”

“He’s really smart.”

Sam took a swig of his lager.

“Fantastic. A beast with a brain. Personally I’m all for the traditional method of dealing with those things.”

Donovan looked down into his beer. It was a popular opinion that procreant alphas should be destroyed when they popped up in the the gene pool. His own feeling was in the minority.

“He’s not a thing, he’s a child.” He said at last.

“Sure, for now.” said Sam with a drunken sneer, “but then its like keeping a wolf cub, innit? And what happens when he gets a bit older? Cubs turn into wolves, mate. You’ll be dealing with a bloody wolf is what…Cubs turn into wolves...”

“That’s a genius observation, Sam…”

“One that’ll bugger you before he kills you.”

“Okay.” Donovan stood. “I have to go… gotta get started early tomorrow…look in on the new boy.”

“God. That’s another one! Did y'ever see one like that before?”

“No. Listen, I’m going, mate. See you on shift.”

“Wait.” Sam grabbed his friend’s arm. “If your pet wolf didn’t have a posh family, he’d not be here.”

“None of us would.”

“No, but we’d have other jobs, wouldn’t we?”

“Sorry. What’s your point?”

“Just you’d better watch it. See what his family can buy…” Sam gave a grand gesture around the room. “What I’m saying, mate, is when his colours finally run true, there isn’t gonna be any justice in the situation.”  Donovan shook himself loose of Sam’s grip.

“There’s not much now, is there?” he muttered as he left.


	5. Clover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sprung up with a growl. He seized her upper arms. Her hand met his face again; she looked at him, cool and unfazed in spite of his grip.
> 
> "Mine." She repeated. They locked eyes. "Your body, your time, your life." Irene licked her lips; leaned inwards and kissed him softly.
> 
> "Your lust." She said.

He'd been dreaming of home again. His dreams were always lucid, always a vibrant slideshow of his deepest self re arraigned and put on display for his conscious self to choke on.

Mycroft was home but still working, ever determined to carve his place out in the world. He spoke excitedly in smooth Mandarin, smiled over his phone call at Sherlock. Sherlock had waved back, settled into his favorite spot in the garden with a book. The scent of new clover put him at ease. It was relief, a cooling remedy to the scents that dominated his waking life.

"Up up, pet."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

"You have a visitor."

The clover broke apart in his nostrils, was replaced by his own deep alpha musk. Matron's complex scent added to the mix, confusing his feelings further. Sherlock felt his body shift from being relaxed to hungry. He scowled in frustration.

"No."

She smiled lovingly at him before her hand met his face solidly.

"Brat." She said, and with another hard slap, "You're mine."

Sherlock sprung up with a growl. He seized her upper arms. Her hand met his face again; she looked at him, cool and unfazed in spite of his grip.

"Mine." She repeated. They locked eyes. "Your body, your time, your life." Irene licked her lips; leaned inwards and kissed him softly.

"Your lust." She said. Sherlock dropped his eyes, though he still growled. His shaking hands slid away from her. Irene slid her hands between his legs, finding the growing flesh she would command.

"Perfect." She said with a thin smile.

+++

She'd double-dosed him but made sure he remained well agitated before leaving him with the client, confident all would go well. An upset alpha (procreant or not) was always a better playmate, and Sherlock had become much easier to antagonize since the new omega had arrived.

He'd also become more rebellious. Irene pondered that perhaps she should not have immediately introduced him to the pure version of the other boy's scent. On the other hand, she was keeping the two in close quarters so it would only have been a matter of time before Sherlock discovered it. The boy didn't miss a beat; saw everything, got into everything. It was therefore better if she managed the interactions between them as much as possible.

Overall it was proving to be invaluable for directing him. John's scent raised desire in Sherlock, challenged his self control, but also made him considerably easier to manipulate.

A dash of it extracted and rubbed into her skin had him more excitable than ever. Irene considered offering it to her most exclusive clientele. The group was quite elite; mostly wealthy, successful alphas who paid to feel their type A personalities dominated; who wanted to slam up against something harder than themselves and fuck something dangerous.

Irene was steadily shaping Sherlock into that something; at the moment he was more of an exotic lay, but in a few years time she knew she'd have him both fully broken and taught to dominate others perfectly. Not to mention he would mature physically. The idea of a perfectly trained, fully developed procreant alpha, hers, was nearly too much for her to think about.

She felt  her phone buzz.

"Speak of the devil- 's brother..." she mused looking at the number.

Mycroft was perhaps the one snag in her plan. He had an impressive position given his age, but being a young man was still relatively powerless.

Irene knew the latter state wouldn't last long. Sherlock's older brother had ambition like no other and a formidable intelligence that hinted at what Sherlock might have been had he not been born a genetic monstrosity. Mycroft also had a deep love for his brother. And so the race to claim Sherlock was on.

Irene hit the "ignore" option. There was plenty of time to play with the elder Holmes later.

She preferred to look in on her newest source of filthy lucre.


	6. Induction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Normally, your alpha partner would do this, stretch you out over the course of the pregnancy, then finally induce you with his or her cock and come. I don't supposed you've been able to experience it, John. That's a pity, as it is very pleasurable by all accounts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting posting posting

"Perhaps you've overdone it." Irene frowned through the glass at John's supine figure.

"We administered the standard amount of drugs. The settings for the dilator are standard too," said Donovan, "he just responded to it exceptionally well."

The other orderly snorted almost contemptuously.

"That's an understatement, innit."

Donovan shot his coworker a nasty look.

"We probably could have induced him at half, it's true," he said rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Only we've never seen a pure procreant before..."

"Just make sure he delivers safely." Said Matron, "If he has problems conceiving in the future, it will be you that's held accountable."

She turned from the idiots to make her way into the room. Donovan held out his hand abruptly.

"Matron! - you might want a mask-"

Irene stopped, eyebrow raised. Donovan cleared his throat.

"His scent - it's well-"

"Surely it can't be stronger?"

"Perhaps, I don't really know, it's - hard for me to gauge past a certain point - but it's changed, anyway. I -I wouldn't like to be an Alpha round it..."

Irene took the pheromone blocker Donovan was holding out to her. She nodded her head once in acknowledgement.

+++

John peeled his eyes open and looked through the drug haze at Matron who stood over him, a strange look on her face. She had a mask on, but he could still tell she was - agitated. Excited, maybe. There was a strange glaze to her eyes that didn't seem to fit with her usual sharp, controlled demeanor.

"Well, look at you." She said and ran her fingers over the surface of his stomach lightly. “You can barely move, can you?”

He gasped at the sensation, the one small touch cutting through the sedatives and nearly bringing him to climax. John began to realise he had grown quite a lot overnight. From deep inside he felt the dull ache of pleasure, a strange sensation of slow but steady swelling. He was so big now that breathing was difficult.

He felt as though he might burst, and that it might feel rather good. His legs twitched lamely as Matron grabbed and placed them back into stirrups. Once again suspended, his enormous belly kept them open as much as anything. Matron looked between the boy's legs.

"Your file says you have an interest in biology. Shall I give you a little lesson? Tell you what's happening with your body?"

Matron snapped a pair of surgical gloves on.

"Technically you’re still growing from the accelerants we administered." she said in an upbeat tone, "Given your size, that would normally be problematic, but in your case, I believe with only a little extra stimulation, you'll be birthing in no time."

Her fingers ran down his belly again and stopped at the thing that had been left inside him, still gently vibrating.

John rasped and whimpered pathetically as she twisted it slowly. It felt a lot like a very large alpha, complete with massive knot. The machine it was hooked to looked something like an IV drip. Matron turned to it and punched a few buttons.

"Let's see if this does the trick." Said Matron in a nearly breathless tone. The thing inside him began to quicken.

"This, is a dilator. When I was just a bit older than you," she mused, "I was trained to use a dilator on omegas that needed to birth quickly." She began to move the dilator in and out of John as its vibration strength increased. His flesh had become pliant and slick overnight, and the motion was an easy one despite the size of the dilator.

"Of course, back then the technology wasn't quite as good. And the facilities..." Matron closed her eyes against the memory. John moaned as she thrust the dilator a little faster. Matron raised her eyelids half mast, a smile on her lips, her whole demeanor suggesting she was enjoying herself.

"Common breeding houses." She said. You're very lucky to be here John, do you know that?"  
John gripped the sheets around him and gasped for air. He was speechless from medication and sensation, trying to move along with her, squirming pitifully. He wanted release badly.

“Yes,” said Matron, “there’s a good little omega bitch. Drop for me now, sweetie.”

John continued to gasp, Matron had quickly fallen into a rhythm and his pleasure was building. As much as he could manage, he undulated and pushed, trying desperately to scratch the itch that had been building deep inside him. His cock was so hard it was aching.

"Normally, your alpha partner would do this, stretch you out over the course of the pregnancy, then finally induce you with his or her cock and come. I don't supposed you've been able to experience it, John. That's a pity, as it is very pleasurable by all accounts."

Matron twisted the dilator expertly, pushed it against John's swollen cervix. As she did so, she squeezed it and John felt a torrent of warm fluid erupt inside him. John yelped in surprise; the fluid and the thrust of the dilator had suddenly widened his cervix. Matron shoved it forward and the head of it pushed into his womb. John shouted in simultaneous pleasure and pain, climaxed and ejaculated as he was forced open.

His flesh instinctively gripped the giant object lodged inside him. Immediately, his cervix began opening, growing softer around it. Matron gently pushed the dilator further into his body, thoroughly invading him. The warm fluid continued to gush into him, filling him with a strange heat. John's eyes rolled back into his head, all the sensations of his lower body dominating.

"What you're feeling right now is a synthetic version of what alphas' bodies make when their omegas are with child," Said Irene, "It's a mix of concentrated key hormones such as oxytocin, somatotropin, endorphins, and the like. You should feel a deep bliss, experience a growth spurt, and go into labour."

As she spoke John felt an intense increase in the pressure of his belly. With a tremendous shudder, his stomach suddenly swelled, the first amniotic sack inside him breaking. John cried out and orgasmed again as Matron pulled the dilator out and a torrent of fluid burst from between his spread thighs. Matrons eyes blazed triumphantly as she watched his womb roll and contract hard.

"And there we have it. Textbook. I suppose this concludes our first lesson." She said.

+++

Irene peeled the gloves off and exited, leaving the labouring omega to her staff.

She pulled a slender cigarette case from the inside of her jacket.

"He's all yours." she said with a wink.


	7. Perfectly Kempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look at me," he said. He was leaning forward now, his pale eyes wide in a strangely calm urgency. 
> 
> Mycroft shook his head.
> 
> “You’re alright, you’ll be all-”
> 
> “No, really look.” said Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? 2016! the year I finish all these crazy stories!  
> (If I keep saying it, It will be true).  
> OMG sorry for the wait.

"Absolutely not," Mycroft scanned the cafe where he’d come to meet with his brother. 

There were over a half dozen omega girls looking their way and it left him feeling unnerved. Sherlock scowled at his words, made a low sound of frustration.

"It's the best course of action," he said.

"Hormonal manipulation is an inexact science - " Mycroft countered.

"It's come a long way in recent years,"

"You've not yet made it through puberty-"

"Exactly, the timing is perfect-"

"It would mean working at a highly experimental level, we don't even have a starting point in terms of the proper dosages-"

"If we're not intelligent enough to do this, My, who is?" Sherlock asked. He crossed his arms and looked at his brother defiantly. His tea and pastry lay untouched before him. Mycroft picked up his own cup, sipped the comforting, warm, liquid in dismay. For some moments, they sat in silence.

"It's too dangerous," Mycroft finally said, "the side effects can be quite bad, permanent. That's been demonstrated numerous times in past cases,"

“It’s no less dangerous than letting things continue… naturally.” Sherlock insisted, "I know the risks, believe me, for both scenarios."

“You’re effectively talking about chemical castration-" Mycroft said.

"Which has been proven to work on alpha-sex offenders-"

"Good lord!" Mycroft scowled. He composed himself and began again. 

"I would not have your health on my hands," he said. Sherlock did not look away.

"-But you would have my life?" He said, "You would let me become a beast? Turn monstrous only to be imprisoned then euthanised-"

"Don't be so dramatic!"

"I'm not." Sherlock said flatly.

"Sherlock, it won't happen. I wouldn't allow it. Mummy wouldn't either. It  _ isn't _ happening; you're doing extremely well!" He nearly added that Mycroft still did not think Sherlock would qualify as an actual procreant (if he would only agree to some testing) but Sherlock was very touchy on this point. 

"Am I?" Sherlock asked. He looked into his brother's face.

"Look at me," he said. He was leaning forward now, his pale eyes wide in a strangely calm urgency. Sherlock did seem a little different, intense as always, perhaps a bit more developed than the last time he’d snuck away to meet up. But he was at that phase of life. For a young adult, his dark curls were tidy, perfectly kempt. His clothes too, had been carefully chosen, and he held himself stock still. He did not look like a beast. 

Mycroft shook his head.

“You’re alright, you’ll be all-”

“No,  _ really look _ .” said Sherlock. 

He remained still. Too still, actually. Mycroft found himself focused on the buttons of his brother’s shirt. They strained, the shirt tight, holding back the body it covered. The perfectly combed hair, too, suddenly suggested something overly managed, barely contained, about to burst. Sherlock's scent, buried under artificial neutralisers, pulsed liked a faint but steady warning beacon. The indifference Sherlock was broadcasting became horribly superficial. Mycroft suddenly found himself thinking of his brother in a way he did not like.

"You're not a sex offender," he nearly shouted. The conversation had taken a dark turn which he found he could not stomach.

"Not yet." Sherlock said. Mycroft looked at him in disbelief.

"But what are you saying?” 

Sherlock looked out the window.

“I’m - I won’t be in control forever.” He said with a low growl. It was a sound Mycroft hadn’t heard his brother make, the sentiment punctuated by a flash of the teeth that Mycroft rarely saw. Sherlock was skilled at hiding them, except, it seemed, when emotional. There was an uncomfortable silence. Behind his brother’s head, the omegas seemed to have grown both restless and greater in number. Mycroft could tell there was more than one trying to work up the nerve to approach.

“Some of them are from home,” Sherlock said. He hadn’t needed to follow Mycroft’s gaze. “But most of them followed me here along the way.”

Mycroft blinked.

“Has this been happening a lot?” The idea of his antisocial, intellectual, brother attracting crowds of lovesick girls was surreal.

“All the time now, everywhere I go,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft inhaled deeply. A number of the omegas were on the edge of heat. Between them and Sherlock, who was both magnetic and cold, the cafe was filled with a strange energy. 

“Are you - do you sleep with them?” he asked.

“At the moment, I prefer male omegas.” said Sherlock offhandedly. He looked out the window, as if lost in thought. Mycroft inhaled again.

“You haven’t really answered, some of them smell like you -” He was cut off as Sherlock slid a notepad across the table and stood.

“My calculations. Double check them, then get me the drugs,” he said. “I must go now, the last train leaves soon and I don't want to worry them at home.”

 

+++

 

Mycroft snapped himself away from the memory. He told himself it was pointless to regret the past; he could only move forward now. He looked at the slim valise he carried. Years of work: slowly, finally, coming to fruition. He'd researched and rehearsed; he knew he'd perform flawlessly, as always. Still there was a sliver of fear running through him he could not dismiss. It would not go away for anything, and this was because of his brother. 

 

The door opened and a fellow better groomed than most of the population could ever dream to be appeared. He looked at Mycroft inscrutably.

 

"They'll see you now," he said.  

 

+++

 

"This is it,” the older student said. He stepped inside, just far enough so John could follow. A single window cast afternoon light and shadow through the small space. Two beds took up most of it, one on each side of the room. There was a small desk at the sill that was stacked neatly with books. A second, empty desk sat perpendicular to the foot of the bed on the right. A young boy sat reading on the bed to the left. He was delicate and pretty, with pale platinum hair. He looked up calmly at the intrusion. John immediately recognised him as the boy he'd see through the window; the boy who'd been jumped on and taken by the alpha.

“This is John, your new roommate. Show him the ropes, yeah?” 

The blonde boy nodded obediently.

“Yes, Plum,” he said. He stood, offering his hand out to John. 

“I'm Tommy Cooke,” he said, “but you can call me Cookie.” 


	8. Unfamiliar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft looked out the window and watched the English countryside roll by.  
> Everything looked the same, yet everything had changed.

“What about the new boy?”

John looked up slowly, he hadn't really been listening.

Joining the school had felt dreamlike and surreal; he'd found himself floating through lessons and mealtimes for days.

His classmates had been relatively welcoming; the student body was small and made entirely of omega boys. As Cookie had towed him around, John came to realise he was quite popular. Although he was the same height as John, Cookie was delicate and pretty, which made him appear smaller. John had never quite been happy being on the small side, but Cookie was comfortable in his own body. Little and coquettish, he seemed a perfect omega in that way, and the others deferred to much of what he said. They treated Cookie like an upperclassman, and treated John as Cookie’s guest. 

“This is Watson.”

John stood with his eyes half closed and inhaled as they surrounded him, inhaling in turn and moving their hands across him. It happened with each new encounter.

The students always spent time in pairs, or small even-numbered groups, so there had been many introductions despite the school's size.

All the boys touched and nosed each other frequently, as if reaffirming something unspoken. All of them were on a regimen of drugs that kept their scents and libidos low. Still, it seemed they thrived on the ritual of pressing nose to jawline, and inhaling deeply while embracing each other.

Mostly John had followed suit, had followed Cookie, had not felt the energy to do more than that. Now they were at lunch, with the prefect on the other side of the hall. Together they laughed and spoke in soft tones.

“What about... the biggest alpha you've ever been with?” The dark haired boy asked.

“What d’you mean by big? Which part?” Answered a ginger coloured boy to John's left.

The others at the table laughed at the innuendo. Only John and Cookie refrained. Cookie instead gave a small smile. His eyes met John's briefly.

“Foxe, you're nasty,” said the dark haired boy again.

“You asked, I answered,” Foxe said dismissively, “it's your mind that's nasty.”

“Roberts has always been nasty,” said Cookie.

“I'm curious is all.” Roberts said. He brushed a strand of dark hair from his eyes. Like Cookie, he was very good looking, with nearly black hair, sculpted features, and sharp blue eyes. Foxe was also remarkably attractive, though he was tall and lanky, his proportions hinting at a fashion model kind of beauty, once he should reach adulthood. In fact, although Cookie’s group was the most attractive, John had not seen anyone besides himself who looked like an average person. It was a strange feeling.

“So Watson, what _about_ you?” Roberts said, again turning to John.

“What?” John asked. He’d still been looking down the length of the table. It was filled with young omegas, all of them beautiful and smart in their uniforms. Thier scents faint, but present, hinting at what their bodies might do without suppressants.

“Tell us something,” Foxe said, “tell us something about your last school.”

“No, that’s boring. Tell us something juicy.” Roberts demanded. He smacked his friend’s hand affectionately, for Foxe had reached across the table and taken his pudding. The two were roommates and usually seen together, were certainly thought of as a pair. Most of the boys seemed to be coupled with their roommates, and John wondered if he and Cookie were meant to be a pair as well.

“Is everyone here a procreant?” John asked suddenly.

The boys looked at him with varying degrees of surprise.

“Yes,” Cookie said at last, “everyone here qualifies. You didn't know?”

John felt himself blush.

“I didn't know there were so many,” he said.

“There aren't,” said Roberts, “we're special.”

“That's why this school is so good,” agreed Foxe, “not just anyone can come here. One _must_ qualify.”

The other boys nodded in pride.

“Didn't they test you, Watson?” Roberts asked.

John nodded, although he suddenly wasn't sure what kind of tests Roberts meant. He had undergone countless medical tests but very few academic ones.

“Then you know. This is the very best place for us to be,” Roberts said.

“I wouldn't choose anywhere else,” Foxe said, “last holiday I went to the seaside, but it wasn't as nice as it is here.”

“You can leave?” John asked, gobsmacked.

Foxe looked uncomfortably at John.

“Of course it isn't easy,” said Roberts hastily, “but some students, the _best_ students, can come and go. The truth is, very few students ever want to leave here.”

Cookie touched John's arm lightly.

“It's true, John, you'll see. It's important we do our best, and yet not make too much of a spectacle. There's a bigger picture to think about,” he said mysteriously.

“Anyway, what about a game of rounders tonight?” Said Foxe suddenly, “I want Watson on my team, he looks like he can play.” He passed the pudding he'd nicked to John and smiled.

 

+++

 

The pink haired beta girl tipped the vessel forward with expert care. Steam and the scent of roses filled the air before him briefly, as fleeting as the soft sounds of the erhu being played. The city of Kuala Lumpur glowed beneath them, promising the ownership of past and future both. The girl dipped her hands into the water and began to wash his feet. He wondered if this offering of deep relaxation was another negotiation tactic, meant to wear him down, but softly.

 _“May I offer you something else, Mr. Charlesworth?”_ The alpha woman next to him asked.

 _“No, thank you, your hospitality has been impeccable,”_ he answered, _“I can only hope to return your graciousness when you come to England.”_

The woman smiled.

“Your Chinese is very good, especially for someone so young. I appreciate that; so few of your kinsman possess even basic manners. I have no doubt you would be an excellent host,” she said, switching to English, “However, I prefer our next meeting be in a different location, one that I will disclose to you when the time to rendezvous is closer.”

A server appeared with two glasses and a very expensive looking bottle.

“Then, have we a deal?” He asked. Golden liquid was poured before him.

The server handed each of them a glass.

 _“We will move forward with our business,”_ the woman said. They clinked their glasses together and drank.

 

It wasn't until after he'd returned to London that the victory of his first solo, deep cover assignment was spoiled.

 

“There's one last thing, and I'm afraid it's not pleasant. There's been an accident,” the words did not seem real, they had almost too much weight to them. Mycroft looked at the young officer in front of him. She was smooth and grey, much like the room he visited for his debriefings.

“What. What sort of accident?” He managed to say. The officer’s expression did not change.

“There was a car crash.” She spoke the words politely, as if apologising for running out of milk at teatime, “Quite a bad one.”

“When?” He asked foolishly.

“Six months ago. Just after you went in. Of course you understand we couldn't interrupt your mission to tell you sooner.”

“Of course not,” Mycroft heard himself say. The officer nodded, clearly pleased that he should be so understanding.

“Is everyone alright?” Mycroft said after a long pause.

The rest of the debrief was a blur.

As he took the train out to his family’s home, Mycroft could not stop certain words from echoing round his head. They were not the words he might have guessed his mind would settle on - words such as “death”, “coma”, or  “legal advocacy”. Rather his mind echoed fragments of his and Sherlock's last conversation.

“I don't want to worry them at home,” his brother had said.

Mycroft looked out the window and watched the English countryside roll by. Everything looked the same, yet everything had changed. He and Sherlock were, for all intents and purposes, orphans now. Mycroft was functioning head of the family. Sherlock was alone, had been alone, in the house for nearly half a year, with the family barrister managing the financials.

The agency had given him some time off but he would need to resume his alter ego soon, in order to preserve the deal they'd been setting up for years. It was his obligation, but also his graduation into becoming a full, albeit junior MI6 operative. His path, which had seemed so clear not long ago, was suddenly wild and uncertain.

Mycroft took a taxi from the station to the estate. It was a grand old place, chosen specifically for its privacy and isolation from society. After years of living the high life in London, Mummy had wished for and insisted upon- but he could not think of Mummy too much, not at the moment.

As the minicab departed, Mycroft noted that although at a casual glance the grounds were reasonably kept, there were small indications that suggested all was not quite well. The maintenance seemed to stop just short of the house, with patches of weeds sprouting here and there. There were areas on the structure itself that needed the typical touch ups after winter, which had been neglected. The smaller buildings, such as the carriage house were still closed up. It was, ironically enough, _too_ quiet. Most disturbingly, when he pushed on the door, it was unlocked.

The scent of the interior hit him, its sharp contrast to the outside air quite strong. It was was unmistakably his brother’s, though it was odd, different.

Mycroft moved through the halls cautiously, towards the main source of the scent, all of his senses raised. Between his powers of deduction and his training, he made his way upstairs expertly and stealthily, taking in all. Even without such abilities, one thing was instantly obvious. People lived here; there was no death, as he initially feared from the outside.

Even so, parts of the home were cold and dark, unused and dusty. Abandoned. The staff was gone, of this Mycroft was sure. The groundskeeper may have done work more recently, but would come no closer than where the weeds were growing. It was easy for Mycroft to imagine Sherlock driving them all away-

A woman's voice laughing startled him from his thoughts. Mycroft had been half instinctively going towards Sherlock's room, but now turned to follow the sound. Soon he arrived at the door to the old, master bedroom. Light and sound emanated from the other side of it. Mycroft reflected for a moment that he and Sherlock often played there as children. His palm felt cool against the heavy wood. The scent buzzed in his nostrils. It was yet stronger here - still clearly Sherlock’s- but coupled and jumbled with something unfamiliar.

The door swung open before him, and Mycroft gasped at the sight and the scent which hit him as forcibly as a physical blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> la la la la


	9. Terrible Luck, Incredible Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where are we going?” John asked.
> 
> “You said you wanted to know,” Cookie said softly.

“Where are the alphas?”

The two boys sat side by side on the grass, watching the others play football. John had not felt like playing, and Cookie had quickly volunteered to keep him company. He blinked in surprise at John’s question.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“I can smell them,” John lied. He did not want to tell Cookie that he'd seen an alpha take him on this very field. In front of them the boys were playing hard, moving the ball up and down the grass expertly. Many of the boys at this strange school were so athletic, John usually had difficulty keeping up. 

“Really? I can't smell them at all,” Cookie marvelled.

“It's faint, but… I know they're around. Or were.”

Cookie nodded.

“Yes, they live elsewhere. Sometimes they come and stay here a while… when things get a bit mad…” He trailed off as his interest in the game waxed.

“Roberts is playing well today,” he murmured, “it's going to be close.”

True enough, the game had escalated to a new level of frenzy as Roberts and another boy went head to head. The other students cheered.

“A bit mad?”

“You know, when everyone's feeling too cooped up.”

“And then what?”

“Then we share them. John.” Cookie turned to him with a solemn expression. John looked back at Cookie curiously. “You ask too many questions, questions that just make things complicated. Like today in class when you wanted to know about the drugs-”

“I'm supposed to be a biology student. Eventually a med student. Why shouldn't I know what they're giving us-”

“It isn't that you shouldn't know, it's knowing where and when things are appropriate to discuss,” said Cookie.

“I don't understand,” John said.

“That's why I'm trying to explain to you,” Cookie sighed. His thin fingers combed the grass impatiently. “Look, it's better if you simply go with the flow. You'll understand how it all works soon enough.” As if to reassure him, Cookie nuzzled up against him. Most of the boys had continued to touch John affectionately, but something had changed. John’s scent was diminished from suppressants, but was still the strongest one. That seemed to count for something. Only Cookie’s scent was as obvious, and his was different, somehow softer. John was sure the boys were now quietly flirting with him, courting him. Yet Cookie was the one most often left alone with John. There was a strange, secret-feeling undercurrent to it all.

John didn't mind, really. He missed the feeling of being with an alpha, and although very different, the affection of his classmates made it easier.

Now he looked at Cookie doubtfully.

“Where did you go last night?” He asked. Cookie gave him a small smile. 

“I'll show you if you like.”

He slipped his hand into John's and gave a squeeze. 

Before John could answer, several of the boys came running up, muddy and spent from their game.

“Did you see that last one?” Shouted Roberts, “you'll not see a goal like that again any time soon!” 

Cookie nodded to his excited classmate.

“I reckon you're pro material,” John said. The boy beamed with pride. 

“Third generation,” he said, “it's in the blood.”

“Come on, pro,” Foxe said. He'd come up from the field, and slapped Roberts on the back affectionately. “Let's cool down.”

He suddenly turned to John with a grin.

“Can you swim?” He asked.

Roberts looked surprised, as did Cookie.

“Yes,” John said. He stood, expecting Cookie to take the lead. Cookie remained seated, then looked away with a frown. 

“Are we going?” John asked. Cookie abruptly got to his feet.

“Sounds boring,” he said, then, “you go on ahead, Watson.”

Before John could say anything, Cookie walked away.

 

+++

 

Mycroft did not know exactly where his luck lay, but he was grateful for all of it - terrible luck, incredible luck. Perhaps it was because his scent was close enough to Sherlock's that he'd been able to move through the house, open the door, and stand there a full four seconds without raising alarm. Perhaps his training had helped, for he'd remained calm and stock-still as he stood there, unnoticed. Or perhaps Sherlock was simply too engrossed in his own actions - and the tangled limbs of multiple omegas- to break from the moment.

In retrospect, Mycroft thought it was probably all of those things, then realised it didn't actually matter. What mattered was his ability to close the door again, just as the beast that used to be his brother had launched itself from the canopy bed towards him in a snarling rage.

Mycroft struggled to hold the door shut. He pulled the keys to his London flat from his pocket and fumbled quickly with the keyhole. He could not lock the door, but he could jam and break it. The door shuddered loudly with the weight of his brother’s body being thrown against it. Mycroft felt himself break into a cold sweat at the animal bellows that came with each impact.

“Sherlock! Sherlock!” Mycroft shouted. The assault on the door continued. 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft felt the locking mechanism turn, then the metal of his key twist and snap. 

The seal of the heavy wooden door became palpably more solid. The pounding abruptly stopped. Mycroft took a step back, trembling. His brother was in trouble. He reached to pull out his phone. From the other side of the door, a new sound rose, one that made his blood run cold.

Sherlock was howling. It was a horrible sound, one made by a human voice that was twisted, tortured. It was quickly joined by a doubling of effort to break from the room, though the focus was clearly on the lock now. Mycroft watched the area around doorknob vibrate and shiver, and knew he had no time. He backed away, then began to move quickly down the corridor.

He had not made it halfway to the stairs when he heard the unmistakable sound of splintering wood. Mycroft glanced back to see his brother’s naked, sinewy form fly out and hit the opposite wall with the force of breaking the door open. His brother stumbled and recovered, then charged down the darkened hall towards him, still howling. His scent inspired a deep terror.

 

Mycroft ran.

 

He somehow missed the staircase. 

Had he passed it? It was pointless; fear and panic were driving him, he knew, his heart was pounding, his body in full flight mode as he tore down the corridors of his childhood home. Behind him his brother was close behind, bellowing, running him down. His scent was as powerful as his voice. Mycroft fled through the shadows by instinct, not fully understanding, but fully knowing he could not let Sherlock get him. 

It was terrible luck that he turned left instead of right as he tried to find the servant’s stairway.

The hallway that lead to the servants quarters - in recent years used for storage - was one of the few dead ends in the house. Mycroft found himself quite suddenly against a wall with locked doors on either side of him. He turned and saw the pale, predatory figure moving fast.

It was no time at all before Sherlock was on him.

It was incredible luck that the stand was there. 

Incredible that as his brother leapt on him with delirious eyes and brute strength, Mycroft reached out and found a weapon. 

It was not much, but he didn't care. He was on the ground by then, facing Sherlock's sharp alpha teeth, and perhaps more disturbingly, his brother's oversized erection. 

It was not much, and it was everything - another four seconds were bought by bracing the black umbrella up and against Sherlock's neck, keeping him  _ off.  _ The four seconds allowed Mycroft to twist, then propel Sherlock up and away with his feet, and in turn, tackle his raging brother.

“Stop! Sherlock! Stop! Stop!” Mycroft gasped. Sherlock roared as Mycroft’s arms wrapped around him from behind. Mycroft employed the sleeper hold he'd practiced so many times at the academy with all his determination. His brother writhed and growled, clawing at the arm restricting his blood and breath. He slammed back against the wall, hard, knocking the wind out of Mycroft. Mycroft held tight.

Four more seconds. They felt like forever, until Sherlock abruptly dropped with a groan, the circulation to his jugular cut off. He lay motionless on the floor.

Mycroft stared at his brother's form.  Even unconscious, Sherlock was a menacing sight. Lean and muscular, he lay in the shadows, his whole body looking strangely twisted. His shoulder appeared dislocated, his lips parted, pulled back and frozen in a partial snarl. The fangs he'd so painstakingly hid were obvious. His breathing was ragged and uneven.

Mycroft’s own breath came in long stutters as he spoke in the dark.

“Procreant,” he whispered sadly, “oh god, Sherlock.”

 

+++

 

“John.” Cookie’s voice cut through the darkness of their room.

John opened his eyes. It had been a long day and he'd been dead asleep.

“Come with me,” Cookie’s voice said. John felt Cookie tugging him by the hands. Groggily he sat up.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“You said you wanted to know,” Cookie said softly. Night after night he'd disappeared. Finally, he was offering to bring John along.

The two boys made their way silently down the hallway. John did not know the place well yet, and under the cover of night, was quickly lost. 

At last they came to a door with soft noises behind it. 

“What is this?” John whispered nervously.

“Just relax,” Cookie said. He knocked softly, then said something too low for John to hear.

They were ushered in. A single candle lit the room and there was a rush of something John hadn't experienced in a long time; the scent of an alpha. It stirred an almost forgotten hunger in him.

“How many alphas tonight?” John heard Cookie murmur in the dark. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the new light of the room. There were perhaps a half dozen boys, though he couldn't see well enough to identify them. Two of them were alphas, their scents giving them distinction. The boys were moving around each other in the darkness, touching and caressing one another. They took turns approaching the alphas, who embraced them, kissed them, pressed their mouths to their jaws. 

John closed his eyes and inhaled. The alphas’ scents were strong but strangely homogenous, almost as though they were the same person.

“Come on,” Cookie was tugging at John’s hand, pulling him into the tide pool of affection. Hands and mouths began to meet his flesh. Despite the suppressants, it felt good. John moved with the group until he found himself suddenly in the arms of one of the alphas. As the boy caressed and kissed him, John began to feel uncomfortable. The alpha’s scent was even stranger up close. It was almost  _ too _ alpha, with something very different underneath- 

John's eyes snapped open. Foxe’s eyes were closed, his expression one of someone fully absorbed in the moment. John looked over at the other alpha. He vaguely recognised the boy, another omega classmate. 

Slowly John untangled himself from Foxe’s arms, then the group itself. He watched a moment longer, then quietly left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More spoon...


End file.
